The air trembles 
as vacant places shift.
Everyone howls sometimes,
eyes turned toward the woods.

Everyone trickles 

as best they can

between the rocks. 

The air trembles 
as night turns into day.

If you ask me whether to dive,
or to wait for the wave,
I’ll wrap my arms around you

and hold you tight. 

In the deep,
you can’t see the missing rib,
you can’t tell the lust from love.

Dark streaks of silt
stain fish‘s tender underbelly.

Fish don’t know

you’re defeated—but alive.

Fish don’t know

the air is salty and fresh.

What you catch,

you stab and eat.

You steered the helm
with one hand.
To me, you were Matthew,
To the others—Luke.
You were the Mashiach.
Allahu Akbar.

The air trembles, 
Which means—
the blow is coming soon.